


Only fools do what I do

by hylander, nutriscii



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Lucas' in his mid-twenties, M/M, everyone's adult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-10 17:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hylander/pseuds/hylander, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutriscii/pseuds/nutriscii
Summary: Not only is he getting cheated on and betrayed by his closest friends, but he’s getting ghosted by his very own cheating boyfriend.Business trip my ass.He’s going to murder him.OR. Lucas gets cheated on and finds comfort in the one person he never expected to.





	1. Chapter 1

_I’m so sorry, Lu. I saw them together while I was leaving the bar. _

These two sentences have been replaying in his head for three days now, and he just can’t seem to get them out. Neither them, nor the picture that printed itself in his head. He’s been imagining them, wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing on that fucking balcony with no fucking care in the world, as if they were reenacting some dumb romantic movie, and every time he wants to throw up a little bit more. Problem is, he hasn’t eaten anything in hours, probably since the day before, and for the better part of the last three days he’s been shutting himself from the rest of the world, putting his phone on airplane mode, and crying himself to sleep every now and then — at least until this morning. 

Now? Now he’s _angry_, and he’s coming for blood.

His whole world came crashing down when he met with his friends at a bar. His boyfriend Benji had left that very morning for some business trip that was supposed to keep him busy out of town for about a week, and while Lucas wasn’t a 100% rejoicing at being separated for so long, he wasn’t usually giving it too much thought because these kind of things happened every once in a while. _How fucking naïve_. His best friends didn’t even dare to look him in the eyes, too ashamed, too embarrassed, too aware, perhaps, that they’ve been crappy to him for keeping this information for _weeks_ now.

“We were just hoping Benji would come through,” they pleaded.

Well, guess fucking what, Benjamin fucking Carron hasn’t. Not for a lack of trying to get in touch on Lucas’ part, though. Not only is he getting cheated on and betrayed by his closest friends, he’s getting ghosted by his very own cheating boyfriend.

_Business trip my ass_.

He’s going to _murder him_.

Not with his bare hands, of course, because as much as he’d like to, there’s so much strength in his body he can use at once, and he’s leaning towards the average/short side of population, and his fucking, _fucking _boyfriend happens to be on the other side.

He should have fucking _known_. Hot guys date hot guys. Sometimes they date cute guys. They don’t date people like him. His area is somewhat cute looking nerds and hot guys who haven’t realized yet their potential, and he should have stuck to that instead of trying so fucking hard to change things that can’t be changed. Five years, that’s how much of his life he’s dedicated to this relationship, only to find out after literally everybody else that his boyfriend, his _boyfriend of five years, _has been banging some asshole on the side for weeks now.

Lucas’ eyes are stinging by the time the elevator reaches the designated flat, but he chooses to believe it’s just because he’s angry, angry enough to make his vision blur and his jaw tighten. He _can’t _cry now, it’s too damn important. He needs closure, he needs it like he needs his next gulp of air, and he doesn’t care if it makes him seem small and petty and _ridiculous _even — not a flying fuck given. The elevator rings and the doors roll open. It’s fucking show time, he thinks bitterly, and he blinks hard to keep the tears at bay. With a furious gesture he grabs the trash bag and snatches it off the ground, dragging it out of the cabin carelessly. It’s all Benji’s fault. It’s his fault if he’s down to this, his fault if he’s playing that part, his fault, his fault, _his fault_, he thinks bitterly as he strides through the hallway until he’s facing a black door with the number 40D on it. There’s a doorbell on the frame, and it only makes his anger intensify, skyrocketing through the roof of common sense and making it shatter in a bajillion pieces.

He can’t believe he’s fucking some doorbell-kind-of-guy — in every meaning of it. Him, Benji, the guy who rolls his eyes every fucking time Lucas vetoes eating from the pizza container, and yet here, with _this guy_, he’s probably getting pizza delivered from a much more expensive takeout service order and drinking wine in those stupid, ridiculously tall glasses that always threaten to shatter whenever you have the fucking audacity to clink them a little too hard together. It’s fucking hysterical, really, being betrayed and seeing his happiness (or the closest fucking form he’s known so far) thrown by the window for a _doorbell_ and _fancy glasses_.

Lucas tightens his grip onto the trash bag, and in an ultimate act of rebellion, ignores the doorbell and starts hitting the door with his fist — once, twice, ten times, the loud thumping echoing in the hallway until there’s a voice shouting from the depths of the apartment 40D, somewhere behind that stupid black door. “_Benji, you fucking piece of shit_,” he yells without stopping.

He hears the sound of the lock turning, and only then he lets his hand rest and takes a step back, planting his feet deeper in the floor, squaring his shoulders just enough to try and mend his broken confidence as the door flies open.

_Fucking show time_.

There’s a guy in the doorway, who, of course, isn’t Benji — that in itself doesn’t make him bat an eye, but the fact that Lucas is there at all does make an invisible hand squeeze around his heart. Judging by the wet hair and the towel around his hips, he just got out of the shower, and he could be a match in a glaring contest, in the ‘freezing cold eyes’ category. From what he read on the mailboxes and the scarce information he got from his friend, his last name is Demaury, which is convenient because he doesn’t want to fucking know what kind of name his _very own boyfriend _is moaning at night when he’s pretending to be working.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”, Demaury spits out furiously. 

“I wanna see Benji, I know he’s in there,” Lucas yells back, and he stands a bit taller on his tiptoes to try and peer inside, in the small space left by that Demaury guy and the door. “_Benji_-”

The guy eyes him like he’s crazy. “He’s not here!”, he snaps. “What the fuck do you want and _who_ _the_ _fuck_ _are_ _you_?”

Lucas’ eyes widen, probably comically in any other given situation, and for a second he deflates a little bit under the enormity of the insult. “_Who am_\- I’m the fucking boyfriend of the guy you’re sleeping with!”, he exclaims.

“Wha-at?” Demaury’s angry face falters for a second, and okay, maybe Lucas takes a little pride in it, but soon he’s back to glaring and coldly throwing daggers at him. Worse even, there seems to be a fucking hint of disdain as he snarls: “Nah, I don’t believe you.”

_Unbelievable_. Reality isn’t fucking up for grabs, he wants to yell. That guy doesn’t get to decide what’s the truth and what isn’t. “I don’t give a shit that you believe it or not!”, he bites back. “Benji and I- Benji and I we’ve been together for _five_ _fucking_ _years_, we have an _apartment_ together!”

He wants to add more, to elaborate, but any sane person would just roll with what he just said and admits their mistake and foolishness. No one cares that he and Benji have their habits at a couple of restaurants. No one cares that they’ve been each other’s dates at weddings. No one cares that they’ve got a shared Netflix account and that they share a phone charger more often than not. They have an apartment together, that should be fucking enough to sum it all up, to Lucas at least. It should be enough of a clue that what he has — or maybe _had, _he doesn’t really know anymore — with Benji is true, and real, and fucking _exclusive_.

But instead?

Instead the guy snorts.

He fucking _snorts_ and shakes his head as if Lucas had just come up with a particularly stupid theory on why the fucking Titanic crashed into a fucking iceberg. “See? No, I don’t believe it,” he says again, and Lucas wants to hit him _so_ _fucking_ _bad_ that his hands start shaking. “I’ve been to his place, I was there literally three days ago, and there’s no trace of _anyone else_ in there.”

Three days ago.

Three days ago, Benji was already out of town.

_He was already _supposed_ to be out of town_, supplies an unhelpful voice in his head. And three days ago Lucas was home because it was fucking Saturday morning, in his fucking sweatpants, on his fucking _couch_. The first thing that comes to his mind is that the guy is lying. He’s _lying_, because in their apartment there are pictures scattered around, pictures of Benji, pictures of him, pictures of _him and Benji_, clothes belonging to the both of them hanging off the rack in the entrance and his shoes stacked along Benji’s in the closet next to the front door. He’s everywhere, _they are everywhere_.

They are everywhere in their fifth-floor apartment in the 11th, and it’s another horrible feeling that snakes its way up his throat as he starts putting the pieces together — or at least when he thinks he’s starting to get a grip on what the fuck is going on.

“What’s the address?”, he grits out.

Demaury squints his eyes a little and huffs haughtily. “I’m not giving you his address!”

“Is it in the 10th?,” Lucas asks blatantly. “_Rue_ Tesson?”

Something in the guy’s face slips a little, just like the first time. Lucas doesn’t need him to answer because his eyes do it very well on their own: there’s a flash of discomfort and betrayal in his grey eyes, and it’s enough. He doesn’t say anything at first, and Lucas only feels mildly happy about it, for a split-second — half the time he felt satisfied the first time. He thought it’d be a lot funnier to shatter someone’s heart but as it turns out it just feels terrible.

It’s his turn to huff and to shake his head, and to make it sound like he’s the one holding the cards. It should feel good and freeing to be right, but it really doesn’t. It just feels like he’s watching himself a minute ago. “It’s his old apartment,” Lucas says, quiet, almost tiredly. “He was supposed to rent it when we moved in together. Well, at least he told me he did.”

Maybe the people who lived there just moved recently, and he took it as an opportunity to bring along his fucking lover, Lucas thinks. That’s what he wants to believe, at least, and he hopes wishful-thinking takes him somewhere less painful than where he’s standing right now, on the fucking brink of bursting into a hysterical laughter that would definitely put him up and ready for a psychiatric ward. It’s easier to believe that Benji only lied for a few months than for the entirety of their relationship. Or so he thinks. He doesn’t know very well anymore, and the trash bag in his hand seems ridiculously out of place now.

The guy’s eyes fall onto it as soon as Lucas’ fingers tighten a little bit more around it, making it rustle faintly, and he’s surprised to find no trace of pain or despair in the guy’s face anymore. That flash of pain? Gone and long forgotten, judging by the intensity of his glare. _That’s some eyes he’s got there_, Lucas mutters inwardly. He doesn’t have much trouble finding ten reasons why Benji would cheat with a guy like that — he’s so ridiculously handsome that every new detail he notices about him cuts yet another deeper wound in his already shattered self-esteem. His eyes are clear too, but much greyer than Lucas’. He’s got brown hair too, but it’s already drying off by itself and he can already tell it’s gonna look good. He’s taller. More athletic looking judging by what he can see.

Better. _Better, better, better_.

He feels like a fool all of a sudden. He came to throw a fit but he’s just embarrassing himself at this point. The guy’s right, he misread the situation. Benji did cheat. Benji _does _cheat. But he’s not going to stick around long anyway when there’s someone else like that guy waiting for him to get home at night. At best he stayed just long enough to land back onto his feet. He doesn’t want to think about the possibility that maybe, _just_ maybe Benji stays because he pities him.

Fuck his eyes are stinging again. _No, no, no_, he thinks helplessly as he looks down, blinking hard to prevent the tears from falling.

His heart jerks in his chest when there’s a hand snatching the trash bag from his loosening grip. “It’s his stuff, right?”, Demaury says, demanding and cold, and Lucas doesn’t know if it’s sheer hope or not but it seems like he can hear a hint of bitterness and resentment too.

Technically it’s not his stuff, because there’s so much of it back at the flat that it would never fit in a single trash bag, but Lucas nods anyway. It’s just a couple of things he had grabbed to make his point crossed. He’d planned it all. He’d planned it all, he’d planned to throw it all one by one in Benji’s face, photo frames, a bunch of underwear and jeans waiting for laundry and a sweatshirt Lucas claimed as his own early in their relationship, but that he can’t suffer the view of anymore. He’d planned to yell at his face, to punch him even, if he got the chance, but now he’s left congregating with his boyfriend’s almost naked lover in the middle of a foreign building.

_How much more of a fucking failure can he be? _

Demaury peers at the content of the bag, then without saying anything he just spins around, and for half a second Lucas expects the door to fly shut right in his face — but it doesn’t. Instead, he’s striding further inside the apartment, and Lucas’ eyes trail absently behind him as he makes his way through his living-room. Demaury chucks the window wide open, and Lucas’ eyebrows shoot up when he reaches for some paper sheets hanging on the wall, tearing them apart a little bit as he doesn’t pause to take the pins down to shove them all in the trash bag. Next thing Lucas knows the bag is flying out the window. Demaury motions to close it, then he pauses and grabs something on the coffee table that he sends out as well. There’s a faint crashing sound when it meets the pavement down the street, and Lucas thinks he might have just witnessed the brutal murder of Benji’s beloved iPad, but he’s not sure.

The window slams shut and Demaury stares at him, hands to his hips, from the entrance of the living-room. “Want something to drink?”, he asks after an agonizing minute of silence where Lucas actually thought he might just be about to receive the same treatment as Benji’s stuff.

“You just- threw everything out,” he says flatly — he’s a bit stunned by the turn of events, to be honest.

“And I’ll be an A+ ecologist for a month to make up for it, yeah,” Demaury sighs. “You want a drink or not? I could use one.”

Lucas considers his options. He’s got nowhere to be, theoretically. “I guess I could use one too,” he admits, a little bit warily. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he dares to step in.

Shit like this only happens to him.

“Good. Make yourself comfortable while I’m dressing,” Demaury says dryly. He motions to leave the living-room then turns back. “By the way,” he adds again, almost like an afterthought, “if you find anything belonging to him, feel free to throw it out.”

Lucas gives himself a second to think about it, his eyes still following him as he’s retreating towards another room to dress up. “Can I smash it instead?”, he asks, because there’s so much they can throw out the window before getting in trouble. The last thing he wants is to get arrested or fined on top of things.

Demaury doesn’t turn back. “Whatever you want,” he says, gesturing dismissively, and Lucas stares incredulously around him after he disappears out of sight, leaving him alone.

He fidgets for a hot minute before sitting down onto the black couch, uneasy, unsure, out of place. He doesn’t want to think about the things this couch might have seen, and he doesn’t want to think about the evenings Benji supposedly stayed at work and ended up spending there instead, and when Demaury walks out, dressed in black skinny jeans and a black hoodie and with a bottle of Tequila in his hand, he suddenly feels better.

Alcohol. That he can do.

*

“Benji was really it for you?”

Lucas’ eyes trail up from the bottle of Tequila sitting empty between them. Eliott (his name’s Eliott), is staring at the ceiling, lying flat on his back, with an unreadable expression on his face. Lucas isn’t sure whether or not he looks sad, or, like, regretful. He just looks… thoughtful. Apparently alcohol gets him thinking, Lucas notes bluntly.

Or maybe sex does.

Sleeping with the lover of his boyfriend isn’t his finest moment in life so far. It really isn’t. But he doesn’t feel guilty, and judging by Eliott’s entirely too laid-back demeanor, he doesn’t feel a hint of regret either — which is always nice when you sleep with someone new, Lucas guesses. He looks up too, trying to pinpoint what exactly Eliott is seeing, but the ceiling is completely white and Lucas’ having a little bit of troubles fixating his eyes on a particular point, let alone an invisible one. The sun is up and bright, pouring in the bedroom through the high window, and it makes him blink and squint a little.

“Maybe,” he says, and he reaches up to rub his eye with the heel of his hand. “I guess so. I mean, we have- we _had_ an apartment together.” He forces the past tense because he doesn’t think there’s anything left to save with Benji, if the last few hours are any indication. They still _have_ an apartment together technically — they are still renting the walls. But the intimacy of living with someone else? Gone. Shattered. Buried. He’s not sure how he feels about it just yet, and he tries to push the thought away for another time.

“Doesn’t mean you would have spent your life with him,” Eliott says, still looking at the ceiling.

Lucas shrugs, more to himself, and he eventually sighs before rolling over onto his side. He shifts his knees a little bit up, and he can feel the warmth of Eliott’s leg nearby. “Dunno. I was happy with him.”

Eliott hums in response and Lucas peers at him discreetly, averting his eyes every now and then to avoid being caught staring. He doesn’t know if it’s the Tequila talking but each passing second makes it more difficult to look away — to pull away. “Was he?”, he asks after a while. “For you?”

To his surprise, Eliott snorts and shakes his head. “I’ve known him for four months. A bit early to form an opinion,” he says, and Lucas makes a noncommittal sound in agreement. Eliott heaves a sigh and turns his head towards him. “I just got out of a long relationship when we met, I guess I didn’t look too much into it. Everything was new and refreshing, you know how it is,” he concludes with an evasive gesture of his hand.

_No I don’t know_, he wants to say. He doesn’t know because before Benji his longest relationship had lasted for a year and all the others were just a matter of months, sometimes even weeks. He’s just not good at relationships, no matter what it is that guys are looking for, they never seem to find it in Lucas — Benji was the only one who made him feel otherwise, who made him feel like he had finally understood the basic rules. He doesn’t say it out loud, because it’s pathetic enough to think about it, he doesn’t want to word it out for some hot stranger he had sex with once to snicker at him and tell him he overthinks it. After all he knows nothing about Eliott, aside from the fact that he’s outrageously handsome and ridiculously good at whatever he does once clothes are off.

“So, my long-time boyfriend was just your rebound guy,” he says darkly.

“Four months is a bit long for a rebound guy though but, yeah, I guess that’s close enough.”

The worst part is that he doesn’t find it in himself to hate Eliott, even though he’s pretty sure he’d feel better hating a stranger than to hate his boyfriend of five years. He eyes the empty bottle of Tequila with a sad look. He’s not nearly drunk enough to think about what’s going to follow. When Benji will come back in town and they will have to talk. Fuck the grand gesture this time. He’s just going to yell at him and probably cry, and it’s going to be ugly and pathetic, but he doesn’t give a fuck — he’s not sure if he wants Benji back at this point, if he wants to make up with him. If given the chance he doesn’t even know if he would go back to the way things were before Benji decided to bang Eliott. He just doesn’t know anything anymore.

“You’re better than he is.” Lucas glances at him absently, interrupting his train of depressing thoughts to focus on Eliott. “In bed.”

A few years back he’d have blushed and awkwardly laughed it off, but on the other hand, a few years back he would probably _not_ have received a compliment on his prowess in bed. As it is, it just makes him snort and shake his head. “Right. Thanks,” then he mutters: “I can cross it from the list of things that might have driven him in _your_ bed then.”

He’s not aiming to be an asshole or to hurt Eliott’s feelings, and spectacularly enough it goes as planned — Eliott even spares him a huff that resembles a laugh. “Ever thought that it might be on him? And not on you?”

“That’s not the first thing that comes to my mind, no.”

“Well, you should.”

“Right.” They stay quiet for a moment, and Lucas focuses on the label on the empty bottle that he circles absent-mindedly with his fingers. “I should go. Believe it or not but- that’s not what I came here for.” He already can’t believe something like that would happen to him in the first place, it’s not like he could possibly plan it beforehand.

“Unbelievable, really,” Eliott hums sarcastically.

Lucas rewards him with a kick in the ribs and a grumbled ‘shut up’, and after another minute, he braces enough courage to sit up. He feels like he’s overstayed anyway, at this point he really wants to get five minutes to register what the hell happened today. He grabs his discarded underwear and slides them on, then starts putting his clothes back on one item after the other. For some reason, the sound his fly makes when he zips it up makes the whole ordeal seem almost obscene, where being naked in bed with a near-stranger didn’t a second ago.

“You’re gonna kick him out I hope.”

Lucas glances behind his shoulder, halfway through putting his shoes on. “Hopefully.” He ponders his next question. “So that means you’re going to kick him out too?”

“There are other guys in Paris,” he says after a moment. “I like him a lot less since this morning, for some reason.”

Lucas huffs and stands up from the side of the bed to grab his hoodie. “I guess it’s a big enough town for us to never find ourselves in a situation like this again,” he eventually says after putting it back on. It feels somewhat awkward that Eliott hasn’t moved at all, still looking perfect between those anthracite sheets that have seen far too much of Lucas already.

“I guess so, yeah,” he nods.

Lucas presses his lips together, hesitating, and with an awkward wave of the hand, he pulls himself further away from the bed, stepping outside the bedroom. He still needs to pick up his phone, but he thinks he might have left it on the coffee table before they jumped each other on the couch after downing three quarters of the Tequila bottle in fifteen minutes.

“Lucas?”, Eliott’s voice calls out as he’s nearly in the living-room already. Lucas backtracks diligently and glances in the bedroom to find Eliott sitting on his bed. “There’s one thing we can’t take from Benji though. He’s got great taste.”

It should be hurting but somehow it’s not. He’s not over it. Not anywhere near. He still wants to smash things, he still wants to yell and scream and shout until Benji realizes he’s been an asshole, and he still holds a grudge on his friends for hiding the truth. He still doesn’t know how he’s going to deal with the apartment thing, where he’s going to live from now on once they’d have settled it all, and how he’s going to rebuild everything Benji managed to turn to shreds because he just can’t keep it in his pants.

But at least- at least he doesn’t hate Eliott. And as insane as it may sound, he doesn’t regret today. He doesn’t regret meeting him. And the sex- Well, no, he can’t bring himself to regret it either.

Lucas gives him half a smile, which turns into a full-on smile when Eliott grins back at him. “He really does,” he says, and he’s almost contrite as he makes his way to the front door after getting his phone back, because it’s not like they’re supposed to meet again and he’s not sure why this particular thought has even a place among all the others.

*

They do meet again.

A couple months down the road. They meet when Lucas is no longer the deceived boyfriend and Eliott is no longer the unintended other man.

And they meet again.

And again.

And many more times after that.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ve missed this.”

Eliott hums quietly in response as his boyfriend’s hand runs up and down his arm, gentle fingers grazing the skin. He’s on his side, facing the wall, and his eyes are stuck on an invisible spot. The words don’t come out, and with every silence on his part his heart gets heavier — and the lump in his throat bigger. Usually it’s quiet nights like these that he likes the most, but tonight everything feels different, alien, out of place. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, but he’s barely reached seven before Benji starts moving behind him, the mattress dipping a little as he props himself up on an elbow.

“You okay, baby? You’re very quiet,” he says, threading his fingers through Eliott’s hair.

It takes a second for him to answer. “Yeah. I’m just tired,” he replies, voice barely any louder than a whisper.

There’s a second of silence, and it’s almost as if he can hear the wheels turning in Benji’s head, like he’s pondering his next move. Problem is, Eliott doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants and what he doesn’t want. He has no idea if he wants him to shut up or to keep talking, babbling, filling the silence that for once is unbearable. He has no idea if he wants him to touch him or to leave him the fuck alone. He didn’t know two hours ago when he was waiting for him to come home and asking himself how he would play it out, he didn’t know an hour ago when Benji crossed the threshold.

He doesn’t know, and it’s eating him alive.

Benji’s hand curls around his shoulder and he turns him over until Eliott’s on his back and their eyes meet. Benji’s got beautiful eyes. And a beautiful face. If only his personality wasn’t so shitty he’d be a perfect match, Eliott thinks. He should be more appreciative of the fact that for once Benji noticed something’s wrong, when usually he doesn’t notice anything until Eliott’s already too deep in his own head and that pushing him away works best for the both of them — and it’s funny, really, because it’s as though Benji just can’t fathom how not okay everything is.

“You sure?” Benji insists.

He looks relaxed. They’ve known each other for four months, but Benji isn’t the relaxed type. Either he’s buzzing with excitement or he’s plain snappy — either way he’s wound-up tight, but not in a totally off-putting manner. This… this feels weird. It feels weird that tonight of all nights he’s relaxed, and chill, and clingy even, so naturally Eliott wonders.

He wonders what happened with Lucas, and if he went to see him at all.

He wonders if Benji found a way to twist things around to dump him.

He wonders if Lucas stood his ground.

“Everything’s fine,” Eliott nods, and he forces a smile.

Benji grins back at him and pecks him on the lips, once, twice, then the kiss deepens and still, Eliott wonders. He wonders if Lucas would hate him, if he were to find out how weak he is.

*

It happens in the subway, about a month after they first met.

Eliott’s lived in Paris all his life, and he has long committed to a strict observance of the _etiquette _in public transportation, so it really isn’t like he’s _purposefully_ staring at random people — let alone trying to make eye-contact with them. No, it’s really not intended.

Yet, as he’s one in a million people walking towards the exit one morning, there’s something that draws his attention in the vicinity of one of those billboards hanging on the walls, on the other side of the tracks. It’s a fact, and he feels mildly embarrassed about it, but his pace falters nonetheless, if only for a moment. Lucas is sitting on one of those plastic seats, too absorbed by the content of his phone to look up and pay attention to the outside world. He looks good, in black pants and a dark-blue button down, and Eliott wonders if his hair is shorter or if he simply tried to tame it at all — the shallowest question among a bunch of others he’s dying to ask. _Are you okay? How are you doing? What happened with Benji? _But if anything life is a funny thing, in quite a strange and small, small world. It lasts for a second, maybe twenty, then Lucas gets up and heads the other way, and before Eliott realizes, that fleeting moment is already over, leaving his silent questions unanswered.

Does he still think about him? Probably not. Lucas doesn’t seem to be the kind to look behind, only moving forward, ever forward. _Not everyone overthinks everything the way you do_, reminds a voice. He’s probably moved on — Benji himself has for sure. He tries to shake it off, forget Lucas from the subway, with his blue button down and his tamed hair, and Lucas from the apartment, with his hoodie and his angry eyes, until it strikes again.

Well technically it doesn’t happen _again_. Not quite. There’s a difference between what Eliott wants to happen, what might happen, and what _actually_ happens.

It’s just another day, perhaps a month or two later — he doesn’t know exactly. He’s walking back home, not really thinking of anything in particular. Next to him, the traffic is enough of a parallel world for him not to pay much attention to it, so when the window of a car waiting at a red-light rolls down, he nearly misses it. He doesn’t really notice, doesn’t really register when the driver is trying to get his attention, until he glances sideway a little bit randomly and a sparkle of excitement runs up his spine — only for it to die down in a blink. It’s a guy, probably in his twenties, and sure enough he’s got floppy hair and blue eyes, but he’s so far from looking even remotely like Lucas that Eliott doesn’t even understand why his brain messed with him, if only for a second. As it turns out he’s looking for a street that Eliott happens to know — it’s the street of one of the _tabacs_ he often goes to — and he’s long, long gone in the direction pointed at him before Eliott stops thinking about it.

Third time’s a charm, or so they say.

It’s not quite 8, and Eliott’s planned to spend an evening by himself at home instead of going out with his friends. There’s something incredibly boring but very important that he needs to do — clear some space on his hard-drives, if he wants to actually spare some money instead of buying yet a new one. It sounds incredibly boring and depressing but he doesn’t mind spending a night in by himself, doing something as mundane as clearing a hard-drive. The only thing on his list before getting home is to grab something to eat, and since he already managed to poison himself once with spaghettis, he mechanically goes to a restaurant in his neighborhood to grab take-outs — really, it’s just an evening like so many others.

At this point, it’s been a little over three weeks since he last thought about Lucas, and Benji, because thinking of one means thinking of the other, so when he bumps practically head first into someone walking out of the restaurant, he doesn’t even pick up on it until he meets blue eyes that are strangely familiar.

“Oh, hey,” Lucas says, sounding a little surprised.

He’s holding the door, but soon his grip relapses and it slowly shuts itself without any of them moving.

Eliott blinks, a little taken aback. “Hi.” There’s a silence and Eliott realizes he’s blocking the way, so he motions to the left. “Uh, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Lucas says quickly, and he cracks a small smile, almost as if he’s relieved. “Anything exciting going on?”

Eliott cocks his head a little, confused, until Lucas gestures towards the restaurant behind him. Oh, right. He’s at a restaurant — or about to walk in — at night. People assume things. It’s not like they never do, they _always do, _because Eliott looks like he does and if he isn’t complaining they just can’t wrap their head around the idea of him wanting to be alone every now and then.

“Nah, I’m just gonna order take-outs and go home,” he says, shrugging a little. “You?”

Lucas scrunches his nose. “I’m here for work.”

“You work here?”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m just- uh,” he pauses, then sighs. “I’m working for an advertising agency and the atmosphere’s been pretty shitty lately so my manager wants me and my coworkers to, uh, _bond_ I guess,” he mumbles half-heartedly, gesturing evasively.

Eliott’s eyes trail up above Lucas’ shoulder, peering through the large windows. The restaurant is an Italian one that he often goes to, not too overly romantic as to make it weird when you’re just going with friends; yet it’s the first time probably that he sees such a big table, pushed in a corner — about ten people are sitting around. He’s already tearing his eyes away when something draws his attention back as quick as an electric shock.

“Is that _Benji _over there?”, he blurts out, disbelieved, eyes widening slightly as they focus on the guy sitting at the end of the table. He’s got his back turned on them, but Eliott would be able to pick his black curls in any crowd. 

Lucas doesn’t bother turning around. “Yes.”

“I had no idea you were working with him.”

So that’s how they probably met. The only time he got to really talk with Lucas, before Tequila took over, he remained quite evasive on how they met, or how they ended up together. Eliott just recalls him saying something about getting together after a few weeks of dancing around each other, but nothing about them being coworkers.

“Yeah. It’s not really fun,” Lucas snorts, sarcastic. “I guess I’m a part of the reason why the atmosphere is shitty at the agency. But in any case, if I’m like, 20% responsible, he’s a good 70%.”

Eliott feels his lips curving into a smile, almost on instinct. “What are the other 10%?”

Lucas seems to be considering his answer, then he slightly turns around. “See that guy over there? The ginger one? That’s the guy Benji banged after we broke up. He’s the other 10%.”

_Broke up_. Not like he’s got any right to judge or to have any kind of opinion — whether or not Lucas got back with Benji _isn’t _his business. Still, he’s glad, because Lucas stands on his two feet, in motion, and he can only guess how hard it must be, considering he has to deal with Benji-the-asshole on the daily. Eliott’s never been friends with him, and after he managed to get his shit together long enough to throw him out, he’s stopped talking and seeing him altogether. And yet. He _knows. _

Benjamin is pretentious, stubborn, but above all he’s a smooth-talker.

_Eliott, baby, I love you. _

_You’re the only thing that matters_.

It’s still hard to believe how close he was to falling for it. How close, but not quite sold.

“Wasn’t easy, I bet,” Eliott winces.

Lucas lets out a small grunt and starts tapping his foot on the concrete. “No. He’s got a way with words.”

_He really does_. Eliott wonders if Lucas can feel it too, the way things seem to hang, up and heavy between them. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop thinking about him these past few months. He was always going back to that week, those seven days he spent being the center of Benji’s world, all the while being fully, painstakingly aware that he wasn’t any better than him, and that somewhere else in Paris a guy called Lucas had seen his world crumble.

Lucas clears his throat. “It’s- uh. It’s nice to see you.”

Eliott looks up, drowning himself a little in those blue pools. “What are you doing here if you’re having dinner over there?”

“I need a break,” he groans, and he exhumes a packet of Chesterfields from his pocket, “if I have to listen to Benji bragging another hour I think I’ll scratch my eyes out.”

He flips the packet open and holds it out towards Eliott. Technically he only smokes rolled-up tobacco, but staying a little bit more with Lucas is worth a bad taste for a few minutes, so he picks a cigarette and sticks it between his lips while Lucas mirrors his movements and puts the packet back in his pocket. There’s a lighter sitting in his jacket, but he doesn’t even make a move to grab it, and it doesn’t seem to bother Lucas any more than that as he motions for him to come closer.

It’s stupid, really, but for a moment, as Eliott ducks his head and angles his face, it’s almost as though he can feel Lucas’ lips on his own and the taste of Tequila all over again. The flame from the lighter lights up their faces as it burns the extremity of the cigarettes, and it’s _not _supposed to last more than five seconds, more than a moment, yet it does, and it _lasts_ and-

The door of the restaurant opens somewhere on the side and they startle away from each other, if only for a handful of centimeters. A man stares at them, a bit surprised, as he keeps the door open. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” His eyes settle on Lucas. “The waiter is there to take orders and Ophélie is asking him if they have anything vegan-friendly, so you better come inside now because I’m not sure how much time we have before he snaps.”

Lucas barely makes an attempt to hide his annoyance as he puffs out a small cloud of smoke. “Do I really _have_ to? We’ve been here for an hour already.”

“It’s supposed to be a bonding night, Lucas,” the man insists. “You’re a part of the team.”

Lucas grumbles something Eliott can’t quite catch, and he’s gloomily tugging at his cigarette. It’s sad, really, to see him like that, and Eliott finds himself dragging the situation for some reason. The only difference is that he doesn’t really want to go home anymore while Lucas has Benjamin to deal with. Lucas’ table suddenly erupts in a loud laughter that echoes through the door still held open.

“See? It _is _working,” the man, probably Lucas’ manager, triumphs as he throws a look behind his shoulder.

Eliott takes another hit, exhaling the smoke, and then his lips are moving before he even thought it through. “He’s right, baby,” he says casually. “You should go back, I’ll just head home, okay?”

Lucas freezes, staring back at him, cigarette dangling from his mouth. _What the fuck are you doing, _his eyes are screaming, but before he gets the chance to say anything, Lucas’ manager finally lets go of the door and takes a step closer.

“Oh my god, so you’re Lucas’ boyfriend? I’m so glad to finally meet you!”, the man says, grinning broadly as he holds out his hand for Eliott to shake it.

_Finally_? Holy shit. He shouldn’t have done that. Does Lucas have someone else? Or is he faking it already? Because right now he looks like he wants to rip off his skin all over again and Eliott thinks he might have taken a very, very bad decision. So much for _s_weet confessions and intense looks.

He shakes the man’s hand and flashes a smile despite it all, trying to make it better. “I’m Eliott, nice to meet you.” He forces a look towards Lucas, already dreading to meet his murderous expression. “Anyway, I’m fine baby, it’s all good, really, you, uh, you don’t have to worry.”

Lucas’ manager seems genuinely concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Eliott fakes a surprised glance. “Yeah, I just had, uh, a family emergency.”

“His grandmother died,” Lucas’ voice says after an agonizing minute, and Eliott nearly smirks in relief to see him hop down the rabbit hole with him. “I didn’t want to leave him alone tonight but-”

“Lucas,” his manager scolds, sounding rather offended, “you should have told me! I’m not heartless, Jesus. Eliott, I’m really sorry, do you maybe feel like joining us?”

He meets Lucas’ eyes. _How about that?, _they seem to say, challenging. Eliott winces, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. “Nah, I was about to get home and I don’t want to be a bummer. I’ll see you later baby?”

Lucas is about to say something, but his manager huffs before he can say a word. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lucas you go home with him, I’ll explain the others.”

“I thought it was mandatory,” Lucas groans, throwing his cigarette to the ground, and Eliott narrows his eyes.

_What the fuck are you doing_, he wants to tell him.

The manager waves. “Family comes first. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go back inside.” He smiles warmly at Eliott and he feels mildly bad about lying to him for a second.

_Come on, you’re seeing him for the first and last time_. It’s not that big of a deal, and he shakes himself out of his thoughts as the man wishes Lucas a good weekend and gets back inside. The door is barely shutting itself, behind a couple exiting at the same time as the manager steps in, that Lucas’ head snaps towards him.

“You’re fucking unbelievable.”

“And you’re welcome,” Eliott grins.

Lucas huffs a laugh. Above his shoulder, Eliott can see the manager returning to their table, and he can pinpoint the exact moment he’s telling Lucas’ coworkers about the situation, because soon a head turns, then two, then three. The moment Benjamin spins around onto his chair, Eliott moves — pounces almost. He steps into Lucas’ personal space, ducking his head a little just like when they were lighting up the cigarettes before reality came back crashing in.

“Everybody’s watching, don’t move,” he mumbles, pressing the tip of his nose against Lucas cheek.

He’s not sure, but he thinks Lucas is holding his breath, and maybe he does too, because smelling Lucas from so close might be deadly for all he knows — if anything their first meeting certainly proved that he wasn’t afraid of anything. “Don’t move either, then,” he whispers.

Eliott feels Lucas’ arms wrapping around his waist, and he’s suddenly finding himself deflecting a laughing fit. “Benji’s watching.”

Lucas snorts. “Let him watch.”

Eliott nuzzles against his cheek, hiding his smile.

“Why are you helping me?” Lucas says again, quiet, tilting his head ever so slightly.

The only thing that is lacking is the taste of his lips, and Eliott is so focused on trying to remember it from months ago that he forgets about Benjamin, and the rest of the world for what it’s worth.

“Between us, your imaginary boyfriend needs a _little_ more substance.”

Lucas pulls back, shooting him a glare. “Don’t you dare judging me,” he grits out. “You don’t know the full story.”

“Well, you know, it’s still early,” Eliott says, casual. “And Paris probably has a billion other restaurants.”

There’s a second before Lucas gives him a smirk. “Sounds like a plan,” he says, his arms loosening around Eliott’s waist. “I’ve got to warn you, though, I’ve got a shitty ex-boyfriend walking around.”

Eliott breaks into a laugh. “I’ve got a fine specimen myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably not what you guys had in mind, i'm sorry 🙈 thanks for reading and for the amazing feedbacks as always 💕🙏🤗


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